


All's Well

by TheVoiceofWrath (meet_your_fate)



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Murder, Prostitution, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-15
Updated: 2011-03-15
Packaged: 2017-10-16 23:42:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/170633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meet_your_fate/pseuds/TheVoiceofWrath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Luke does what it takes to survive and Sylar puts a stop to that shit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All's Well

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first and so far only foray into Sylar's clairsentience, but I think it's a really great mechanism. Yes, this is sort of a hooker!fic. And a little violent; Luke goes a bit psycho killer.

As Sylar leaves his father’s house and corpse behind, he can’t help but regret ever having come here. He may have gotten a few answers, but for every answer there are only more questions. The vengeance doesn’t even feel worth it. Before he killed his father, Sylar was sure that it would make everything feel better; that everything would suddenly make sense. But it doesn’t make sense and he doesn’t feel any better. He has all of this anger and no way to get rid of it because his father’s already dead and that didn’t help at all.

He doesn’t know what to do, but he can’t stop moving. If he stops, they’ll find him. And maybe that’s what he should do; bring this secret government organization that’s trying to capture him down. But how will that do any good? They’re like a Hydra. If he destroys them, more will rise in their place. He can outrun them. He doesn’t need to take the fight to them. They aren’t worth it and he feels like going off the grid and never coming back. He doesn’t want to deal with covert agencies or anything else.

He knows it’s weak and pathetic and he hates himself just a little bit more. He gets in the truck. He doesn’t know where to go, so he just picks a direction and drives. The world turns.

Days have passed and Sylar hasn’t slept or eaten. He’s been driving as non-stop as possible and he still doesn’t have a destination. He turns when the impulse strikes him. He’s so lost that he doesn’t even know what state he’s in. He wonders if this is what insanity feels like. That is, until he realizes that he’s been on this street before, in this neighborhood. He passes by his father’s house in Newark, New Jersey and slams on the brakes. How did he drive all the way to New Jersey without noticing? He could have been driving in circles for all he knew, but he ends up where this crazy road trip started? He parks and steps out onto the road.

Why is he here?

A team of cop cars goes speeding past Sylar with their sirens on, and for a moment he thinks they’re after him. When they park in front of the Campbell residence, Sylar knows that Luke’s killed his mother. He remembers Luke saying we don’t need them, and knows that this is his fault; that Luke needed to prove how independent he can be.

Sylar follows the gawking neighbors to get a closer look. The police are already putting up caution tape to keep them away. He looks through the picture window and sees blood; lots of blood. Like Luke heated his mother until she exploded. He wonders how long it took for someone to notice, how long ago the crime was committed. It must have been some time ago, because if it had just happened, they’d be dragging Luke down those front stairs and forcing him into a squad car. Or he’d be killing them, too. But neither of these things is happening, so Luke must be long gone.

Sylar stays with the crowd until they disperse. Then he lets himself in his father’s back door and waits for the cops to leave. He wants to see what really happened at the Campbell residence.

 

When the coast is finally clear, it’s after midnight. Sylar’s so bored of waiting he can hardly stand it. He makes his way to the house Luke lived in and lets himself inside. The murder scene is the first thing he sees. There’s blood everywhere. Like sticking a hamster in a microwave, only the living room is the microwave and Mary Campbell was the hamster. If Sylar weren’t a serial killer, it might have been disgusting. He wonders if any of the cops had gotten sick. They must think some kind of bomb was used, because something like this isn’t possible.

Sylar walks over to the mantle, to a picture frame with specks of gore on it. In it, a young Luke is building a sand castle. He looks happy. He must be three or four with round cheeks and dimples and a carefree smile. There aren’t cigarette burns on his bare arms. Not yet, anyway. Sylar touches the frame and closes his eyes; focuses on what it can tell him.

When he sees it, it’s like a bad TV signal fading in and out, with bits of static. Luke and his mother are arguing. She says that he’s a monster, that she wishes he’d never been born. He says that everything would have been different if she had even tried to be a decent mother. She slaps him and asks just who the hell does he think he is, speaking to her like that? Luke says that he doesn’t need her, that he doesn’t need anybody. Mary says that that’s good, because he doesn’t have her. That he’s a freak of nature and should get out of her house before she calls the cops. Luke raises his hand and it starts to glow with heat. She asks what he’s doing and looks for something to defend herself with. Luke says that there is no escape; only pain. And then Mary starts screaming.

Sylar opens his eyes. He can admit that Mary was kind of asking for it. It isn’t smart to keep pushing someone who can kill you with superhuman powers. He puts the picture frame in his jacket pocket.

Sylar looks around the house for some sign of what happened next. In Luke’s bedroom, he touches the light switch. He sees an emotionally numb Luke packing clothes in a duffle bag and then leaving, shutting off the light behind him.

When he looks in the empty garage, he sees a tube of lipstick lying against the wall. He touches the tube and sees Luke dumping out a purse, taking a wallet and keys as the tube rolls away. He gets into a blue car, his mother’s rental, and backs out.

 

The next morning, Sylar walks into the police station in a suit posing as a fed. He thinks it’s a little crazy that he’s just strolling into a police station. This isn’t something he normally does, putting himself in jeopardy for some stupid little punk that is just not his problem. He can’t help it that Luke went all psycho killer.

Still, he finds himself barking orders and acting like he’s in charge. It works; it always does. People are just sheep looking for someone to follow, someone to take charge of the situation. Sylar is very much in charge of the situation. He’s got some rookie getting him coffee and Detective Newman leads him to a room with crime scene photos on a wall. Only, there’s more than just Mary Campbell up there. There are at least three separate murders, and not one of them is Agent Simmons. They’re throwing around terms like ‘serial killer’ and ‘MO’. They say that they’re thankful the feds finally decided to get involved because they’re finding it hard to cooperate with the other police stations; especially those assholes from Pennsylvania.

“How many victims are there?” Sylar asks.

“So far, we know of six. And that’s in two days. From what we can tell, these three on our board all happened within three hours of each other and it’s been almost a day since the last vic. Who knows how many we’ll find today? Whoever the sick son of a bitch who’s doing this is isn’t wasting any time. And do you see how each of them died? They burned to death from the inside out or something. None of us can figure it out. Do you see this one?” Detective Newman asks, indicating the photos of Mary Campbell’s body. The crime scene looks much worse with the large bits of human still in it.

“Yeah, I see it. It’s disgusting.”

“Damn right, it’s disgusting. It’s like she blew up. Can’t be a good way to go.”

“It surely can’t. Do you have any leads?”

“Not much. It seems like he takes the car of whoever he kills. We haven’t found them, yet, but he’s got to be ditching the old cars to take the new ones. No fingerprints either. He must be wearing gloves.”

“Then, how do you know it’s a he?” Sylar asks.

“We had a profiler come in. Said this kind of violent murder is indicative of a masculine perp. He must know what the hell he’s talking about because he gets paid so goddamned much.”

“Newman,” another detective calls as he jogs into the room. “We’ve got two more; killed last night around eleven.”

Sylar elects to follow them in his truck instead of riding along. He doesn’t think he could keep his charade up for much longer.

This scene is a gas station. It turns out that it’s two bodies; the man who worked there and a customer. Sylar thinks that it probably isn’t wise for the kid to play with microwaves so close to gasoline. He knows he won’t be able to touch anything while they’re in there, so he says that he’ll look around outside. He makes a big show of putting a rubber glove on his right hand so they won’t have to worry about him contaminating anything.

He touches all of the pumps until he finds the one the victim used. He sees her waiting for her car to fill up and he sees Luke watching her from across the street. He sees her go inside and Luke follows.

Sylar walks across the street. It the alleyway, Sylar sees the blue car Mary rented. As he nears it, he notices that the plastic handle is melted and so is the steering wheel and the radio dials. So they can’t get prints. The vinyl headrest, too, so they won’t find any hair. Sylar touches the hardened remnants of the steering wheel.

“This is the last time. You’ll change your name and only use cash and you won’t ever get a cell phone or use the internet and the police and whoever else is looking will never find you. No one will even notice you in New York. The objective is to survive. You’re on your own. No one’s going to help you,” Luke says to himself, because there isn’t anyone around to listen. His hands are gripping the wheel so tightly that his knuckles are white and he’s blinking back tears. He gets out of the car and melts the parts of it he came into contact with. He grabs his bag and walks to the end of the alley. He waits until the woman turns her back before following her.

Sylar is in his truck before he even thinks about making excuses to Detective Newman. He’s glad that they gave him copies of the case files. In Mary Campbell’s there’s a picture of her son. He’s going to need it if he’s going to track down a runaway in New York City. Especially since the teen has a half a day’s head start.

 

There are only a handful of possible places that a runaway teen can go to find a place to stay in New York City. Sylar’s been searching and waving Luke’s picture around for what seems like forever. No one’s seen him or heard of him and Sylar doesn’t even know what name to be asking about. Finally, well after nightfall, he catches a freaking break.

“Yeah, I know him. Lucas Gray. He took my last room,” says the portly superintendent of the most disgusting building Sylar’s seen yet. Sylar’s first thought is hallefuckinglujah, but his second is what the fuck? Because, really; Lucas Gray?

“What number is he in?”

“2B. But I don’t think he’s there. I saw him leave an hour ago.” Damn and blast.

“Well, I’ll go check. At least I know he’ll be coming back here eventually.”

“Kids these days, huh?” jokes the guy.

“You have no idea.” And Sylar isn’t joking.

He doesn’t bother knocking. Even if the kid was home, he wouldn’t have. After what he’s gone through, he’d have liked to have seen the expression on Luke’s face when Sylar just came barging in. It’s a three room apartment and instead of the walls being a particular color, they look like rot. Kind of green and kind of black and Sylar wouldn’t live here if someone paid him. But it’s the kind of place that takes cash and doesn’t run a credit check, and Luke did a good job of finding a place off the grid. Even if that place is disgusting. There’s nothing in the whole apartment except for Luke’s duffle because he literally just got here and he didn’t pack any mugs or decorative pillows. There isn't even any furniture.

Sylar waits for four hours before he starts to think that Luke might not be coming back. And he’ll never admit it, but Luke’s just a kid and he’s never been on his own in a big city, and Sylar’s a little bit worried. So, he decides to go looking, again, for the goddamn teenager and when he finds him he’s going to kill him. If he isn’t already dead.

Sylar looks in all of the places that stupid kids hang out that he can think of, and it’s in between two of them that he stops and looks towards an alleyway. He can’t see anything, but he walks into the alley anyway. After about thirty feet, the alley turns to the left and Sylar looks around the corner before continuing. There, about ten feet away from him, is Luke. On his knees with some middle aged pervert’s cock in his mouth and Sylar has never felt more homicidal in his entire life.

It’s reflex, really, that causes Sylar to grab the man with his telekinesis and throw him into the opposite wall. Sylar doesn’t even hear the sickening crunch that means the man is probably dead. All of his attention is on Luke, who landed on his ass when the man was thrown. Luke’s looking up at him with a number of emotions fighting for dominance on his face; hurt, anger, joy, fear. His lips are swollen and red and Sylar feels conflicted in a way he hasn’t felt for a long time. Sylar isn’t sure if he wants to slam the boy into a wall until he dies or if he wants to wrap his arms around him and get them out of this god awful city, where kids blow strangers in alleys.

Luke still hasn’t moved and Sylar doesn’t even know what to say. He can’t wrap his mind around the situation. Luke had left bodies across multiple states and now he’s having clandestine trysts with older men in alleys? His mouth opens and closes a few times. What he finally settles on is, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Luke’s face settles on anger. He gets up off the ground and glares at Sylar. “Nothing’s wrong with me. I’m doing just peachy, thanks.”

And Sylar could tell that was a lie without the ripple in his mind. “Well, you killed an awful lot of people for there to be nothing wrong.”

“So, what, you got bored with the whole ‘chasing down your dad’ thing and decided to stalk me; to take my ability?” Luke asks, and there’s a cold edge to his voice. Like he expected this; that Sylar would come to collect eventually.

“I’m not bored. I finished with my father. I was driving to a more ideal locale when I caught wind of your little killing spree. Figured I’d check into it. Make sure you hadn’t gone insane, which clearly you have. What are you thinking?” And Sylar really wants to know.

“If you’re not going to kill me, just leave. It’s what you’re good at. I’ve got nothing to say to you. Besides; I’ve got bills to pay.” And it makes Sylar a little bit sick. Luke is getting on his knees in alleys for money? Didn’t Luke think to rob the people he killed, to empty out the register at the gas station? Luke’s a prostitute? How many men had he serviced while Sylar was hanging out in his apartment?

“Tell me you aren’t.”

“Aren’t what? Making the most amount of money in the shortest amount of time? Why, Sylar, that’s exactly what I’m doing. Don’t act so concerned. You gave up that right when you left me at the diner.” Luke’s eyes have gone sad and he turns away, towards the mouth of the alley. “Don’t follow me.”

And Sylar lets Luke go. He can always find Luke at his apartment.

 

Sylar is leaning against the kitchen counter drinking coffee when Luke finally gets home. The sun is rising and he wonders how many more men Luke was with after Sylar found him. He’s furious that Luke didn’t come straight home to wash the scandal off and think about just exactly what he’s done. That Sylar had expressed his displeasure, and Luke didn’t even take the rest of the night off. Luke looks at him and sighs, before dropping his keys and jacket on the counter. Luke looks so intensely at him that Sylar wonders what it is he’s trying to see. It’s unnerving and Sylar has to break the silence.

“The super told me that Lucas Gray lives in this apartment. That must be you,” Sylar says smugly.

Luke looks away. “You think I named myself after you? Don’t flatter yourself.”

And Sylar notices the lack of eye contact and the way that Luke doesn’t actually say whether he named himself after Sylar or not. Luke is clever, finding loopholes in Sylar’s lie detector, and he’s never really given the kid any credit. Not even in his own head.

“Where’ve you been?”

“Have you been waiting long? Good.”

“Not good. I get cranky when I wait. And my coffee’s getting cold,” Sylar says as he raises the paper cup to his mouth. Only, Luke’s hand comes out and grabs the coffee before Sylar can get a drink. His hand glows for a moment and then he hands it back. The cup is hot in Sylar’s hand. He looks at Luke and raises his eyebrow.

“Yeah, I know. It’s the only thing I’m good for. What the fuck ever. I’m going to go take a shower.” Luke walks away, grabs his duffle, and heads into the bathroom. Sylar hopes he doesn’t shower barefoot. That bathroom is terrifying; he might catch something.

Sylar has never been one to just sit around and do nothing. Read, work, watch a movie, but not just sitting there waiting. He’s tired of leaning, so he hops up on the counter and sits. He taps out a rhythm with his hands on his knees and wonders why he’s so fidgety, why he can’t just sit still. It’s more than twenty minutes before Luke comes out of the bathroom. He’s wearing pajama pants and a T-shirt and Sylar wonders where the boy is planning on sleeping. There isn’t even a couch, let alone a bed. Luke blinks at him a few times before he speaks.

“Why are you here? Why can’t you just leave me alone? Isn’t that what you want?” And Luke looks frustrated, like he spent his whole shower trying to figure out why Sylar suddenly showed an interest in him when he never had before. Sylar doesn’t have the answers to these questions. At least, not yet. “If you were just going to track me down, what was the point of ditching me in the first place?”

“You killed your mother.” That throws Luke off, like he hadn’t expected Sylar to bring it up.

“So? You probably killed your father. Besides, bitch deserved it.”

“I know, I saw.” And that confuses Luke. Luke doesn’t know that Sylar has clairsentience. He must think that Sylar was hiding in the bushes outside of a window, spying on him. Sylar reaches for his jacket on the counter and into his jacket pocket to pull out the picture frame from Mary’s mantle. Luke is even more confused by Sylar having a photo from Luke’s house. “Clairsentience. I can touch objects and see what’s happened near them. Saw the whole thing.”

“Well that’s handy. Now, are you going to answer my goddamned questions?”

“Not likely. Why are you doing this?” Sylar asks while he sets the picture on the counter.

“What do you mean by ‘this’?” And Luke knows what Sylar means, he just wants to make Sylar say it.

“Take your pick. Are you out of your mind? Killing sprees and prostitution! I thought you were smarter than that!” Sylar’s yelling now and he’s hopped down off the counter to walk menacingly towards Luke. Luke doesn’t back down, doesn’t show fear because he’s pissed and Sylar can’t tell which of them is angrier.

“Fuck you and your self-righteousness! And your hypocrisy; how many people have you killed, Sylar? Just because my reasons aren’t as good as wanting their super powers doesn’t mean I didn’t have reasons! I needed to get off the grid, which I’m going to have to do again because you found me, thanks a fucking lot! And it’s not like I was planning on making a career out of sucking cock! I just needed some goddamned start up cash so I could make this rat hole inhabitable and feed myself until I can find a job. Which, by the way, I tried first. I didn’t show up all excited to get on my knees for strangers!” Luke is jabbing him in the chest, yelling up at Sylar with tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes.

Sylar can’t take it anymore. He wraps his arms around Luke and pulls the world-weary teen against his body. He presses his lips to the corner of Luke’s mouth and Luke freezes. Sylar turns his head slightly to make it a real kiss and Luke’s fist connects with Sylar’s jaw. Really, he should have seen that coming.

Sylar lets go of Luke and sees the hurt in his eyes. “You think this is funny, Sylar? To play with your food before you eat it? Figure you can have one last laugh before you slice my head open? You want to use my feelings against me? Well fuck you. I’m done playing your games. Kill me or don’t, but don’t ever touch me like that again.”

Sylar is so out of his depths. How was he supposed to know that Luke has feelings? How do you explain to someone you’ve hurt that you don’t want to hurt them any more?

“Luke, isn’t it pretty obvious that I’m not going to kill you?”

“Nothing’s obvious. You wanted me gone, so I got gone. Yet, here you are, acting all concerned and… and kissing me. Are you bipolar?” Luke puts some distance between them, leaning against the counter. His eyebrows are scrunched together and his mouth has a small frown on it. He crosses his arms; a defensive posture.

“Luke, I came for you. I never made a conscious decision, but here I am. I drove to your house in Jersey without realizing it and I followed you all the way here. I don’t want your powers and I’m not going to kill you, so why am I here? What other reason could there possibly be?” Sylar steps closer to Luke. “No one else can put up with my shit like you can. I like that you laugh at inappropriate times and that you always take it one step too far. I want you around and I don’t know why I didn’t understand before, but I do now. I’m not trying to hurt you and I won’t ever try to hurt you again, but it’ll probably happen anyway. I’m not a good man. Hell, I barely human. But, I’m crazy and you’re crazy and it sounds like simple math to me.”

Sylar is standing right in front of Luke. He puts his hands on the counter, trapping Luke between his arms, and leans in. Luke doesn’t hit him so he figures that it’s okay now. When their lips touch, Luke whimpers and Sylar applies a little more pressure. Luke’s hands find Sylar’s forearms and slide up until one of them is on the back of his neck and the other is gripping his shoulder.

Sylar pulls away just far enough to see Luke’s face. His eyes are blown wide with lust, but there’s something in the corners of his microscopic smile that seems like joy. He can’t keep his mouth away from Luke’s for long, seeking it out for a more passionate kiss. Luke gasps and Sylar takes the opportunity to lick between his parted lips. Sylar moves his hands from the counter and onto Luke’s waist. He lifts Luke so he’s sitting the counter and recalls how little the teen weighed when Sylar had carried him over his shoulder. Sylar’s hands slither inside Luke’s T-shirt and the skin beneath it is feverish. He lowers his mouth to the boy’s neck and runs his teeth over the pale flesh he finds there, kissing and nibbling in turn. Luke whimpers and clings to Sylar as if his life depended on it. Sylar chuckles and, in response, Luke moans.

Sylar pulls away and Luke tries to follow him, but Sylar presses a hand to his chest to stop him.

“I’m not going to have sex in this apartment. It’s disgusting.” Luke nods in agreement. “Get your stuff. We’ll drive to a motel outside the city or park in an alley or something; anywhere but here.”

Luke shuts his eyes and breathes for a few seconds before hopping off the counter. He smiles shyly up at Sylar and Sylar can’t help kissing that expression. It’s Luke who puts an end to this kiss.

“If you don’t want to have sex here, stop kissing me. God; you’re like a fucking seventeen year old,” Luke jokes as he disappears into the bathroom to grab his duffle bag. Sylar laughs.

It won’t always be this fun. Sometimes it will be hard and sometimes they’ll hate each other. They’ll be on the run constantly and sooner or later it will have to end. The agents will probably catch up to them and they won’t be able to take Sylar down, but Luke isn’t bulletproof. Sylar can’t really see this concluding any other way. Still, the pros outweigh the cons, and you can’t fight with the kind of logic that wants to win.

Luke comes up next to him and takes his hand. Sylar lets him. They leave the apartment and don’t bother telling the superintendent that they’re never coming back. All’s well. For now at least.


End file.
